


Kill!  Kill!  Kill!

by Dandalion



Series: Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Dreams, Happy Ending, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandalion/pseuds/Dandalion
Summary: What were you doing in my dream last night, honey?Well I thought I locked that door up tight, babyWell it's a mystery to meHow you keep on slippingIn my mindAnd it's downright dirty that this old woundWon't heal with time
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Kurt Hummel/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539916
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Kill!  Kill!  Kill!

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65MlXmYkBJA

He feels hot. He feels hot all over, but he can't do anything about it. He's already removed all his clothes, trying to relieve some of the heat, and his blankets are kicked off his bed, but even the cool sheets and slight breeze coming in from the window aren't helping.

There's also something wet around his cock. Something wet, and warm, and wonderful. He looks down and sees a head bobbing between his legs and registers that something as a mouth. And _oh_, does that mouth feel good. He never wants it to stop, but he can feel his stomach clenching, and knows the end is near. He slams his head back and squeezes his eyes shut as he comes hard down the mouth's throat, shaking almost violently and panting heavily to catch his breath.

When he looks down, there are bright grey-blue eyes staring back at him, and that heavenly mouth is smiling and whispering secrets, lost in between his lips.

He wakes up, his dick throbbing and painfully hard, sweat staining his sheets as they stick a little to his naked back.

He wonders what the mouth had been whispering.

* * *

_Regrets collect like old friends_

_Here to relive your darkest moments_

_I can see no way, I can see no way_

_And all of the ghouls come out to play_

"KURT!"

_And every demon wants his pound of flesh_

_But I like to keep some things to myself_

_I like to keep my issues drawn_

_It's always darkest before the dawn_

"KURT!"

Kurt ignores the shout of his name, turning up the volume on his iPod dock. He'll come down when he's ready.

_And I've been fool and I've been blind_

_I can never leave the past behind_

_I can see no way, I can see no way_

He finishes buttoning his shirt, smoothing it down while looking in the mirror.

"Impeccable," he whispers to himself. His eyes slide up to the chain around his neck, and the ring that dangles from it. His hand reaches up to clutch it. He wills himself not to cry, pinching himself on the arm to remain calm.

* * *

Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, he pulls at the chain around his neck, thumbing the ring that hangs from it. He stopped asking about it a long time ago, since the only answer he ever got was "you have to remember for yourself". And what kind of bullshit is that, anyway? They're supposed to be here to help him. Maybe the ring is the key to everything. Maybe knowing whom it came from, knowing what significance it held…maybe that would be the push he needed.

He sighs and forces himself to stop thinking about it. No one but his own stupid, damaged mind can give him the answers.

* * *

Steadying his breath, Kurt tucks the chain under his shirt, causing it and the ring to be hidden. He ignores the voice in his head that tells him to pull it back out, to take it off the chain and slip in back on his finger. This time, he shuts that voice out, telling himself it's finally going to be for good.

_I'm always dragging that horse around_

_All of his questions, such a mournful sound_

_Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground_

_'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn_

_It's always darkest before the dawn_

Kurt turns away from the mirror, trying and failing not to move to his bookcase and take the picture frame in his hands. His fingers delicately trace their faces, his thumb pressing over where their lips touch, his lips shifting down to kiss the glass, right where their hands are linked. He forces himself to put the frame back, and on a whim, he folds it down, the picture now out of sight. Maybe if he can't see it anymore, he can finally heal a little.

_Shake it out, shake it out_

_Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa_

_Shake it out, shake it out_

_Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa_

_And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back_

_So shake him off, oh whoa_

"KURT! COME DOWN HERE!"

He actually doesn't hear him this time. The music is too loud, and Kurt has begun spinning and dancing.

* * *

He has another dream. This one seems to be at a party….a wedding maybe? No, it seems more low-key than that. Perhaps a school dance? He's alone on the dance floor, drowning amongst the giddy sea of slow-dancing couples. He's reaching his hand out, and another hand reaches back, but their fingers only brush for a moment before he loses it again.

He comes into contact a few more times with the hand before finally managing to get a grip, pulling it towards him. A warm body collides with his own, and he presses them close, one arm wrapping around the slim waist, the other still clutching the hand.

They sway along with the crowd for a moment before he takes the lead, spinning them around leisurely, gradually picking up speed, until they're the only two left in the room. They twirl, laughing, until their bodies lift from the ground and they take off through the roof, through the sky, and into the moon.

He wakes up immediately, his entire body tingling with an intense and inexplicable energy.

* * *

_And I am done with my graceless heart_

_So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart_

_'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn_

_It's always darkest before the dawn_

As the chorus starts up again, Kurt shifts into rhythmic, perfectly timed twirls, snapping his fingers, his controlled movements a mimic of _his_ dancing, so unlike the shimmies and jazz hands Kurt himself tends to stick to.

* * *

They have him doing community service once a week, and this week is a visit to the elderly home nearby. He's brought to the community room where they're playing some jazz, and he pulls some of the older ladies out to dance with him.

A song comes on that he recognizes, though he can't quite remember why. He can't quite remember a lot of things; some memories are always just out of reach, at the tip of his brain, teasing his mind, but he's never able to coax them out.

It was definitely from a musical, that much he could determine. And it was kind of flashy, in a way that made him believe he had seen it performed in some bright, bold way.

The woman he was dancing with knew all the words, and she pulled him in close right as the singer finished belting out the final note to whisper the last line along with the track:

"_Le Jazz Hot_."

* * *

_And it's hard to dance with the devil on your back_

_And given half the chance, would I take any of it back_

As the music swells, Kurt's body begins moving of its own accord, his arms rising in the air as he continues to spin. He feels a huge smile stretch across his face, genuine for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

_It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone_

_It's always darkest before the dawn_

Absorbed in the music, Kurt doesn't notice the knocking on his door. His movements do slow, however, due to a need to breathe and because he's begun hysterically giggling to himself. He hasn't felt this free in a long time. It feels like redemption and betrayal all at once, but he lets it go and finally collapses on the floor, grinning up at the ceiling.

_And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't_

_So here's to drinks in the dark, at the end of my rope_

_And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope_

_It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat_

The steel hand that's been gripping his heart for months now has finally loosened. It's happened before, bit by bit, but he thinks that maybe this time it's for real. His chest feels lighter, the ache beginning to slip away; not entirely gone yet, but certainly making its way there. He feels ready.

_'Cause looking for heaven, for the devil in me_

_Looking for heaven, for the devil in me_

_But what the hell, I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah_

"Shit, Kurt." Burt stands in the door, finally having given up on trying to get Kurt's attention and just coming in.

_Shake it out, shake it out_

_Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa_

_Shake it out, shake it out_

_Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa_

_And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back_

_So shake him off, oh whoa_

He sighs at the sight of Kurt sprawled on the floor, red-faced and panting, still smiling like an idiot. He side steps over to Kurt's iPod, turning off the music. The abrupt silence is enough to sober Kurt up a bit, and he sits up, refusing to meet Burt's eyes.

Burt holds out a hand, hoisting Kurt up when his son takes it. Kurt gives him a small smile when Burt inspects him, clearly checking to see if he's just had some sort of breakdown. Kurt wants to tell him yes, but doesn't quite know how to explain to his father that he isn't going crazy; he's actually getting better. By the look in Burt's eyes, he most definitely wouldn't understand, especially since he's "gotten better" before, only to fall back into a pit of longing and despair. But not this time, Kurt thinks. This time, he's going to pull himself all the way out. Kurt Hummel is nothing if not determined.

Burt finally stops searching Kurt's face and lets go of his hand, turning away and starting out the door. When he gets to it, he turns back to Kurt.

"Better come down, bud. Your date is here."

* * *

Words, words, words. That's all he has left. Journals, letters, full of sentences he doesn't remember writing or reading, names he can't put faces to, jokes that tease the block in his mind. He sits back, sighing frustrated, only to look up and see his nurse eyeing him disapprovingly. He sticks his tongue out at her when she turns her back, but leans forward again to try and decipher some of (anything, please, one phrase, one friend) the writing.

He gets to a school notebook of his and is flipping through the pages of boring math notes when something catches his eye. He pushes back to the page and stares at it, his eyes trying to make sense of some sort of code language that the page is written in. As he gets closer to the bottom, there's one word, still in the code, that strikes him. A moon symbol, two stars in a row but different colors, and an infinity sign. He grips the notebook as his eyes squeeze shut of their own accord.

_"C'mon, it's fun! Like our own private game," a voice says says, giggling as the boy attached to the voice continues writing down the alphabet._

_He watches the long, pale fingers move down the page, showing him the different symbols for each letter._

_"And our names are unique. They won't follow this pattern. See, here's mine. A moon for 'K', since I was born on a full moon, a blue star for 'u' and a green star for 'r'…two stars for how big my talent is," the voice says with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes and lean in to place a kiss on his nose. He's batted away though, the voice continuing on. "And an infinity sign for 't', because no matter what, I will never be brought down."_

_His grin widens, and he leans in for a kiss, which the boy allows, smiling shyly when they separate. He stares at him for a bit longer before settling back again._

_"So what about my name?"_

He gasps as he comes back to himself, his hands trembling and his nurse kneeling beside him, holding a cool compress against his forehead. His head spins with confusion as he takes in his surroundings; how did he get on the floor?

"His eyes are open!" He hears her saying to someone else, before turning back to him. "Sweetie, talk to me! What happened, are you alright?" All he can do is blink at her and accept the cup of water being thrust into his hand. After a long sip, he finally finds his voice.

"Who's Kurt?"

* * *

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt reaches the bottom of the stairs and is greeted by his date's eager face, and a daisy being held out for him to take.

"Hey, Marcus. Um, thank you," he says as he plucks the daisy from Marcus' hand, tucking it into his shirt's front pocket. Luckily it matched his outfit.

"So, shall we get going?" Marcus holds out his hand for Kurt to take. Kurt stares at it for probably a second too long before accepting it and being led outside to Marcus' car. Fortunately, his date doesn't go as far as opening the car door for him, and they both get in in silence.

Neither of them talks during the drive, opting to let the radio fill the air. It's not uncomfortable, and Kurt is grateful for the chance to prep himself for an entire meal with this boy. He knows he's ready, or at least he thinks he is (desperately hopes that this time he is), but he doesn't want to give Marcus any reasons to doubt him.

* * *

He's sitting in the dining hall, eating his lunch, when the patient sitting across from him accidentally spills her water all over the table. It drips off the side and onto his lap, and he's struck with the image of a soft, pale hand dabbing at his pants awkwardly and a sweet, high voice muttering apologizes while he chuckles and bats the hand away, assuring the voice that it's okay and not to be embarrassed.

Confused, he shakes the thought out of his head, and after he finishes drying himself off, he skips the rest of lunch and takes a nap, hoping to sleep off the strange sensation that the memory had been an important one.

* * *

They arrive at the restaurant, a very small Italian place right outside of Lima. Marcus takes his hand again as they walk in, and Kurt looks at him apprehensively.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…never mind," Marcus mumbles as he drops Kurt's hand. Kurt sighs and grabs his hand back.

"Trust me, it's not because I don't want to hold your hand," Kurt says, giving Marcus' hand a squeeze and getting a broad smile in return. "I'm just always a little worried about…being so publicly affectionate. You know, Ohio conservatives and all." Marcus looks at him slightly taken aback.

"I never took you as one to hide, Mr. Hummel," Marcus says with a smirk.

Kurt knows he doesn't mean anything by it, but it doesn't stop the rush of heartache from crashing over Kurt at his words. Because Kurt _is_ one to hide, at least after what happened. Watching _him_ get beat to a pulp, just for being with Kurt, watching that bat come into contact with his head, knocking out all the memories of their time together, their love and their plans and their devotion, gone with just one swing of that bat…that had been enough to make Kurt want to hide forever.

Kurt gives him a tight-lipped smile before responding.

"Well, people change, I guess. I've just…become more cautious with my pride. As out as I am, Ohio can be a scary place."

Marcus, seemingly realizing his mistake, looks at the ground a bit shamefully and squeezes Kurt's hand hard, holding the door open for him when they get to the front of the restaurant.

"It's okay," Kurt whispers as he walks in, turning away from his date to greet the Maître d' and put the somewhat uncomfortable moment behind them.

Marcus pulls out his chair for him, and Kurt mentally pats himself on the back for not thinking too much about how _he_ used to do that. He can totally do this whole moving on thing.

After they order, they slip into easy conversation, and Kurt actually finds himself having a good time. He didn't necessarily expect not to enjoy himself, but he just wasn't sure if it was too soon or not, like all the other times he thought he was ready. He's pleasantly surprised that it doesn't feel like it is, and even goes so far as to reach across the table to take Marcus' hand, initiating contact for the first time.

* * *

In this dream, there's a picnic set up in a field, and a pair of long legs stretch out across the blanket. He sets up the food, careful not to touch the pale, smooth, flawless skin. All he wants to do is reach out and hold, touch, _taste_. But all too soon the serenity of the picnic and those legs gives way to his blinds being pulled up and the alarm blaring, signaling breakfast.

* * *

Marcus seems a bit taken aback, but doesn't protest, linking his and Kurt's fingers together. Luckily, they both ordered food that only requires a fork, and they manage to eat without separating their hands. Half way through the meal, they're both laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Kurt barely even thinks about _him_.

Yeah, Kurt is totally rocking the moving on thing.

* * *

"We got together at Dalton. He sang Blackbird and I had an epiphany and I kissed him and he blew my mind and oh, my god, please tell me you're writing this down because I never want to forget it again."

His therapist smiles, gesturing for him to take a sip of water. He's grateful for her reminder, because he often goes entire sessions without drinking any and develops headaches from the hour of talking combined with the dehydration.

"You're making some amazing developments," she says, and he likes that. He likes hearing her say it out loud, that he's making progress, but he also likes that she doesn't sugar coat it for him. He doesn't want to be lied to; he knows he still has a long way to go.

"Dr. Martin…when do you think I'll be ready to go home? See everyone again? You told me my parents moved here with me after the incident, but that they're willing to take me back to Ohio, should I want to go, once I've recovered enough." She sighs, looking at him with apprehensive, yet thoughtful eyes.

"Honestly? At the rate you're going, as long as your memory continues to return normally and steadily, I should say you'd be okay to go back within the end of the month."

The end of the month…that's in two weeks. He almost can't believe it, and has to stop himself from getting too hopeful, but he knows that his mind has worked past the major block, and the doctors all find his memory regains encouraging. He has most of the past two years back, which is most of what he lost.

He thinks of Kurt. Kurt, who is always so determined, so set to achieve anything he sets his mind to. He wants to do this for himself, to prove to himself that he can overcome any battle, but he knows that might not be enough to power him through the next two weeks of memory and mind exercises.

Doing it for himself might not be enough….but doing it for Kurt certainly will be.

* * *

It all falls apart when Marcus tries to kiss him goodnight. And he had been doing _so_ well. But as they stand on Kurt's porch, their hands intertwined, Kurt watches as if from a distance as Marcus leans in, and suddenly, _his_ face invades his vision, and he bursts into tears the second Marcus' lips touch his. He stumbles out his apology, wiping at his face and backing away, wrapping his arms around himself.

Marcus is at a loss. At first, he seems to want to try to comfort Kurt, but doesn't really know how, so he mutters an apology as well before fleeing to his car. Kurt doesn't even watch him pull out. He goes inside, running straight to his room and unconsciously making a beeline for the dresser. He takes the picture frame in his shaking hands, setting it upright again. The happy faces taunt him, but he stares at them anyway, still sobbing and clutching the sides of the frame.

"Why did I ever think I was ready? I'll wait…I'm sorry, god, I am so sorry, I'll wait for you, I don't care how long it takes, I'll wait forever, I just want you—only you."

He falls asleep on the floor in front of the dresser, the picture frame folded in his arms against his chest.

It has become a familiar position, and when Burt finds him the next morning, he isn't even surprised. He simply gently lifts Kurt's head to rest it on a pillow and drapes a blanket over his body.

* * *

Almost four months. To be exact, three months and twenty-seven days. A four hour and fifty-one minute plane ride, a two hour and sixteen minute cab ride, and here he is. Here he is, standing in front of the door of the boy he fell in love with, forgot, and then fell back in love with by remembering bit by bit. He pulls himself together, bringing his hand up and pressing the doorbell.

There are some voices from inside, but it doesn't take too long before the door is swung open, and there stands the most beautiful boy he's ever seen: Kurt. _His_ Kurt. He's worked so hard to get back to him, and here he is. Kurt stands before him, mouth wide in shock even as tears fall freely from his gorgeous eyes. Suddenly, he's smiling, genuine and beautiful and so real it hurts to look at. He feels it, in that moment. This is where he belongs. This is where he always belonged.

"_Blaine_."


End file.
